Villager
by TheIckleBoots
Summary: Ella. A normal citizen of Bowerstone, perhaps a little ahead of her time in private, but perfectly normal apart from that. Until she becomes best friends with Rhiannon. Who's the Hero of Bower Lake's childhood sweetheart. Then things go all hydroponic carrots. Because there are no bananas in Albion.
1. Prologue

Ah, the tranquility of Bower lake.

Gently, softly, gold crept along the grass, dew shimmering in the mild morning light. The lake was silky, a myriad of colours from teal to a gauzy golden-pink, mist curling around the surface, a blanket. Quiet. Peaceful. In the distance the hill stood huge and proud, a gentle giant watching over this scene, a clearing of perfection in a busy world of chaos.

Ella stood there, only eight at the time. Just watching the sun cover this small world of hers with light, pushing away the darkness. No beatles to be seen - recently the guards had gone on a desperate hunt to clear out the area.

She stood on that path for a good hour or so, contemplating. Let everyone else call her a melancholy, serious child. She was just so...so happy to be alone. To be surrounded by nothing but peace and...well, peace and-

"THE BLOODY MUTT WON'T STOP, MY CHICKEN IS TRYING TO RUN ALL OVER THE PLACE AND IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF YOUR BARMY AUNT'S ANTI-DEPRESSANT HERBS." The peace Ella craved was rudely interrupted by two teenagers - one had quite the curliest, wildest midnight hair Ella had ever seen, hair that recklessly shunned modern society's favoured hairstyles such as a neat back knot, or a tidy yet pretty braid, or even the half-up half-down one the adventurous, unmarried young woman flaunted.

No, it looked more like it had been in a fight with a curler, and ended up losing. And it was on the head of a tall, slim teen, perhaps about fourteen? She was tanned, with freckles on her face and giant dark blue eyes that were filled with enough vibrant emotions that it could fill Bower Lake! And the girl was wearing boy's clothing! And she had a bedraggled chicken under one arm! She looked like everything Ella's mother despised about the 'new generation'.

As for the boy next to this girl, he looked around her age. And he was even worse. Ella could not help but gawp and the messy bronze hair that fell to his shoulders (boys weren't meant to have hair that long!) and the paleness of his skin, despite the abundance of freckles! And his eyes were a bright, curious green. And the dog...

The dog was huge and shaggy and gold, and it's giant pink tongue was hanging out of it's mouth as it happily panted, padding alongside the boy as if butter wouldn't melt.

"Is it my fault your chicken learnt how to remove jar tops? I'm annoyed too, Mother Elena's going to kill me if she finds out what happened to those herbs, and for the last time, they aren't anti-depressants, they're natural sedatives!"

"Dork."

"Chicken-lover."

"Dog-snogger."

"It was one time, and it was accidental!"

"Haha, I win!"

"Great, can we go back now?"

"Uh huh...prepare for me to boast about my victory!"

"Can't wait. Really. Can't wait."

"Sure you can Sparrow."

Ella watched with young, perplexed eyes as this strange pair walked back to the gypsy camp. Well that would explain how strange they were! Mother always said gypsies were strange, half-people and that Ella better be glad that they stuck to their camp and Bower lake.

Ella wasn't to glad when her mama came storming over and sent her to bed early that night.


	2. Not a prologue

**Ten Years Later...**

Ella stood on top of a knoll, one covered with snow. The whole of Bower lake was frozen over, a rippling sheet of shimmering ice with the occasional dusting of snow. The trees were stripped bare of their leaves, yet holding dazzling icicles that gold in the wintry sunset.

Speaking of sunset, she should probably head home. Mother would want her share, father would want Ella to read to him, and Tommy needed to be picked up from Mavis Dwyer's house soon. She turned, heavy clothes-filled pack weighing her down. And yet the jingle of those merry gold coins motivated her to trudge back to Bowerstone.

The clothes business was a good one, especially the traveling work. Travelers often needed a new pair of shoes, or matching socks, or a warm coat. She'd even started bringing dyes with her, since those had become a quick and easy way to turn a boring coat into a bright fashion statement. Not that many people brought bright colours, most liked cobalt and saffron, ever since those tents people called dresses became the newest style in Bowerstone. All those upper-middle class ladies paid small fortunes to proudly wear those same two colours, maybe with a hint of tangerine.

And then Ella saw her...a beautiful young woman, with hair like woven shadow, tall and slim and elegant and covered in paint. And carrying a bag, no doubt an artist of some sort. Oh, the women of Bowerstone would murder to have such features! And those wide, long-lashed eyes, dark yet vibrant like the deepest waters of the ocean...and they wrung a bell.

... _that bloody mutt...dog-snogger...victorious..._

That teenage girl? And one who'd been friends with Sparrow! He was the talk of the continent, with his attractive features and brave feats of justice, and his dog, Dog, who'd became the darling of Albion...well, Ella had work to do and she was just plain shy, so she hurried back home.


	3. Chapter II (Also not a prologue)

**Imagine a montage. It's a good one, at that, providing plenty of exposition and friendship and all that fun stuff.**

 **There might be one question crossing your mind...why didn't the author write a story of two very different young woman becoming friends? Well, the answer is simple. I shall describe this way - imaginary montages are the IRL fan fiction-writing parallel to Fable II's dating system. If I toss a few words and let your imagination spark, I'm basically a lazy gamer giving the fifth spouse-to-be ten bouquets of 'cheap flowers'. It's not a gesture that one will hold much value too, but it somehow has a meagre effect on the NPC that you're about to feed, clothe and pay so that they remain in a relation you hold no proper emotional or tactical value to without the mental pain of doing whatever strange form of girating the game calls 'dancing' for an hour.**

 **You may also notice that I just turned a rather lazy excuse for my inability to produce a chapter about Rhiannon and Ella becoming friends over the space of two months into a short rant about Fable II's flawed method of matrimony. To put it shortly...I should probably get on with the story.**

—

Well. That had been two hours of nothing but everything strange.

Ella liked to thing she was rather open minded about new ideas and ways to alleviate stress...betting on chicken races simply was not on that list.

Nor was assisting Rhiannon in setting the chickens free, only to learn they were also extremely aggressive and ready to murder.

And that was only the first fifteen minutes - after that, the levels of crazy raised, and they raised _fast_. Rhiannon...Rhiannon was wildfire. Wherever she went, life and light surrounded her...and so did chaos.

Ella wished she had such an exciting aura. If Ella even had an aura, it was probably a sense of utter...well, a feeling of being mundane. Ordinary. Her friend was an artist, who'd travelled the whole of Albion, who'd lived in Bloodstone, who'd grown up in a gypsy camp dancing around the fire and singing tales of heroes long gone.

And yet, Ella had only ever explored Bower lake, and despite her mother's thorough disapproval, even that small adventure was dull compared to the dangers Rhiannon had faced. And then there was the small matter of the 'friend agreement'.

Two days after becoming friends with Rhiannon, or 'Rhi', Ella was given a 'friend agreement' to read through and sign. It included some normal conditions, such as not mentioning the difference in the two young women's upbringings, and to never eat crucible peanuts, since Rhi was allergic to them.

And then there was the unexpected ones, including no matching clothing, no pet chickens and no talking about russet apples.

But the number one rule, the one Ella found most unusual, was

'On no circumstances whatsoever are we ever to converse, mention or refer to the individual named 'Sparrow', or his mutt'.

And Ella found that so confusing! If she had a famous, attractive friend like the hero, the only thing she'd want to do is talk about him, about his adventures, about his adorable yet fiercely loyal dog, Dog. And yet, whenever Rhi would hear his name mentioned she'd insist on a change of location. A month ago Sparrow had visited Bowerstone market, and Rhi had spent the whole time sitting with Ella in the cellar talking about Fairfax delight cheese and playing 'head, hat and moustache'.

Not that Ella was complaining - Rhi was an amazing friend, she always had Ella's back and even if she refused to talk about her childhood with the most famous person currently living in Albion, she still had such an interesting life filled with fascinating anecdotes! She still made everything seem interesting, and she did indeed accompany Ella on the way to Bower lake. Ella would sell clothes, and Rhi would paint, or visit the gypsies, or read.

And yet...Ella wondered what had sparked so much awkward avoidance and animosity. All those years ago, when she had spotted Rhi chatting with Sparrow, there was nothing but the happy boasts and witty remarks of two teenage friends. And now they were both older, and beautiful, and gifted, there was this thing that got in the way. And sweet Avo, it was driving Ella round the cobbled road trying to figure out what had happened!


End file.
